


i'd be better off dead

by fadedheart (rudelove)



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Episode 2x05, Episode Fix-it, F/F, Mentions of Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 20:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18902158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudelove/pseuds/fadedheart
Summary: she knows how fucked up it is — she just doesn’t know how to stop herself.





	i'd be better off dead

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been unable to stop thinking about this episode ever since it aired and about how villanelle didn't even show off her scar to eve (like seriously wtf was up with that) and then... this happened? i am so sorry.

The thing is, Eve has been waiting for this all day long; spent hours sweating under that ridiculous scratchy vest they forced her into. “It’s for your own protection,” they told her, and Eve had to restrain herself from laughing in their faces. As if anything — or _anyone_ — could keep her safe from Villanelle.

The truth is: she is equal parts thrilled and terrified by the idea of Villanelle showing up on her doorstep again. Sure, they have a special and beyond fucked up connection that makes Eve confident that Villanelle would never let anyone besides herself harm Eve, and yet, Eve’s head is plagued by all the different ways that this could play out: What if she is still too mad at Eve after what happened in Paris? What if she grabs Eve as she’s walking down the street and stabs her using that pin of hers before Eve’s had the chance to scream for help? What if she tortures Eve, plays with her like she’s nothing but a toy that she discards once she gets bored? Will she make a mess or make it look like an accident — a suicide, maybe? Would she hesitate before doing it? Would she enjoy it the way she enjoyed killing Bill?

The thing is: Eve has been waiting for this moment since that day in Paris, yet she still jumps up in surprise when the doorbell finally rings. She knows who it is. She doesn’t have to look out of the window or ask who it is before opening the door.

She knows it’s _her_.

It all happens too fast.

“Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Villanelle offers in lieu of a greeting, giving Eve a pointed look as she walks past her.

And then she’s inside, taking her shoes and veil off; sitting down at the table in the kitchen the way she’s done once before; yelling at the top of her lungs as she urges Eve to throw up in the sink; holding a knife to Eve’s chest, steadying Eve with an arm around her waist.

“You hurt me, Eve,” Villanelle says. “You could’ve killed me.”

“I know,” Eve says, not skipping a beat, “I think about that all the time.”

There’s a flash of anger in Villanelle’s eyes, something akin to disgust, but it fades away as quickly as it came. “Really?” she asks, voice so quiet Eve would’ve missed it if they weren’t standing so close, their bodies pressed together from the waist down.

Whatever Villanelle might be feeling right now, she doesn’t pull away and it’s a relief, as ridiculous as it sounds. Feeling a sudden rush of boldness, feeling in control like she’s the one holding the knife to Villanelle’s chest and not the other way around, Eve reaches out to touch her, cups Villanelle’s cheek in her palm and asks: “Do _you_ think about it?”

It’s almost amusing how the gesture takes Villanelle by surprise; takes her a moment to respond. Her eyes widen slightly and she turns her face to the side, leaning away from Eve’s touch with a quick jerk of her head like she’s afraid that if she doesn’t pull away fast enough she might end up leaning into it, relinquishing control.

“I think about you _all_ the time. you know that, Eve.” Villanelle finally admits.

And it’s embarrassing and so incredibly fucked up, the effect Villanelle’s words have on Eve. It’s like she’s been struck by a lightning bolt, quickly zipping down her spine and settling low in her belly, down to her very core. She feels wide awake for the first time and it frightens her.

She is suddenly reminded of what Villanelle told her just mere moments before Eve stabbed her in the stomach: _I masturbate about you a lot_. Back then, Eve thought Villanelle was just taunting her, trying to elicit a reaction out of her. But now — now she knows Villanelle was simply stating a fact, and she wonders what Villanelle’s reaction would be like if Eve ever dared to admit that she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since, that she has been doing the same since that tragic last encounter of theirs.

(She pictures Villanelle splayed out on her bed, all sweaty and rosy cheeked, her eyes fluttering shut as she slides a hand between her legs, biting down on her lip as she thinks of Eve.

She thinks about it a lot, ends up touching herself because of it more often than she should, feels dirty for thinking about it; about fucking someone else — _an assassin_ , while her husband is asleep right next to her. Sometimes, she can’t stop herself. She has to sneak into the bathroom in the middle of the night and keep her hand pressed over her mouth so she doesn’t wake him up.

She knows how fucked up it is — she just doesn’t know how to stop herself.)

Villanelle is the first one to break the silence. “Well?” She asks expectantly. “Aren’t you going to apologize for it?”

“No,” Eve says quickly. An image of Bill flashes through her mind as if on cue. “Are you?”

“No.” Villanelle wrinkles her nose, starting to look bored already. “Do you want to see what you did to me?” She asks suddenly and she doesn’t even bother waiting for Eve to respond before acting on it.

She looks giddy, almost, as she takes a step back and puts the knife down on the kitchen island behind her back, still keeping it within reach — a reminder that no matter what, she’s still the one in charge, that she could easily use it to slash Eve’s throat open before the thought of it could cross Eve’s mind.

She’s tugging on her dress now, her fingers skating along the black tulle as slowly as she possibly could, inch by inch, knowing damn well that Eve is waiting for the grand reveal with bated breath. The dress is all layers and frills and lace, but Eve doesn’t dare reach out, doesn’t offer to help Villanelle out. She just stands there and waits, feeling cold now that Villanelle’s body is no longer pressed up against her own.

Then, with one last ceremonious tug, there’s a strip of smooth skin, exposed just for Eve. The pink line that runs across Villanelle’s stomach should be ugly, but it’s not; its reddish-brown edges should be jarring against Villanelle’s perfect skin; but they’re not. Eve can’t take her eyes off of it, mesmerized by her own creation. It’s smaller but more beautiful than anything Eve could’ve imagined.

She wants to touch it. She almost does, but she stays still as she waits for Villanelle’s permission before she could make a move. She wants to run her fingers over the scar, wants to see how it would feel against her lips, wants to do so much, but she can’t. One wrong move and she would be dead. _Look what happens to the people she loves. She will love you to death._

Then, as if Villanelle could read her mind, she tilts her head curiously to the side. “You can touch it if you want,” she shrugs nonchalantly, but Eve can tell that it’s an act, a challenge to see how far Eve is willing to go. “You hurt me, Eve,” Villanelle repeats herself, “Should I be afraid of you?”

Eve looks up at that, meeting Villanelle’s eyes. “Depends on how you behave today.” She says.

“I’m expensive,” Villanelle responds, “Will you give me everything I want?”

With little to no hesitation, Eve’s reply is quick. “Yes.”

“Then, let’s go, _partner_ ,” Villanelle grins, razor-sharp. “C’mon, we have work to do.” And with that, she’s gone, waltzing away, leaving Eve behind.

 _It’s going to be a long day_ , Eve thinks as she follows after Villanelle, her heart hammering in her chest with the anticipation of it all. She wonders, for the first time since the idea popped in her head, whether or not everyone else was right when they warned her she would be making a mistake by asking Villanelle for help.

But it’s too late for her to do anything about it. There is no turning back now.

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it this far: thank you, and again: i am so sorry u___u


End file.
